Curse of Ages
by Loudmouth Lamb
Summary: In the 1920s, a time when women are just beginning to carve a place for themselves in the male dominated world of academia, Madge agrees to go on an archaeological expedition. The ancient curse waiting for her, however, is nothing compared to a certain fellow student by the name of Hawthorne. AU (obviously)
1. Setting Sail

**AN:** Alright, so I just watched The Mummy again for the 1st time in a long time and remembered how ridiculously obsessed I used to be with the movie. Then I got the idea for this story and, well, here we are. By no means am I an expert on ancient Egyptian history or archaeology, but I'll do my best to be as accurate as fiction allows. There will be magic, adventure, themes of eighteenth century feminism, and buckets and buckets of romance between Gadge, my favorite literary couple that should've been, but wasn't.

 **P.S.** Still working on Incubate, but I've got to take breaks or else I'd go completely crazy :)

 **P.P.S.** I'm really excited about this story, even if it's kind of crazy, haha.

* * *

Sand rose around her in great waves, darkening the sky, swallowing the sun, but she was not afraid. _Be brave, little one,_ her father had told her before she was taken from home many years ago, _be brave and serve your god._ She had done as commanded. She had been faithful for so long, though her heart beat in rebellion, and then came the day she could fight her heart no longer. Then came her doom.

 _Be brave and serve your god._ She had no god. No more. Never again. Only thirst remained to her. She licked her cracked and bleeding lips, seeing water on every horizon. Though she knew it was a mirage, she kept walking towards the water. Though she knew she would soon die, she kept breathing the scorched air of the desert.

* * *

1923

Margaret woke lathered in sweat from another nightmare. Like the other three she'd had this week, it left her with a thirst too great to bear. She could still feel the sand caught in her throat. She untangled herself from damp sheets, moved quietly through the sleeping cottage, expecting to feel hot sand beneath her feet at every step. _Just a dream_ , she told herself, shaking her head to clear it of sleep's trickery. She was far from any deserts. She was in Southampton, in her aunt's little cottage by the sea. As she stood in the kitchen, downing a glass of water, and then another, and another, she slowly returned to herself, remembered why she was here, and why she was likely dreaming of deserts.

Tomorrow she was to set sail for Egypt. She still couldn't believe it was really happening. When Professor Abernathy, the head of the Archeology Department, invited her to join his expedition to Karnak, she'd been flabbergasted. She was a journalism major, had never even set foot in the archeology building, and initially thought that Professor Abernathy was teasing her. He was known for playing cruel jokes on the students, but he'd quickly assured her that wasn't the case this time. "I've heard good things about you," he'd said during their brief meeting in his dusty, cluttered office. "I want someone to record our journey. Your Head of Department tells me that you're the best."

Madge had been more shocked by _that_ than anything else. Her Department Head, Professor Crane, openly despised her. She was the only woman in the program. He often said that she didn't have what it took to be a field journalist, that she was too soft. If anything, he'd recommended her for the Karnak expedition to scare her out of the program. She was determined to prove him wrong about her.

Fuming a little just thinking about the man, and still overheated from her dream, she stepped outside for a breath of salty sea air and made her way to the beach, following footsteps left in the sand by another, either Peeta or her aunt. When she crested the dune, she spotted a figure at the water's edge. _Peeta_ , she thought, smiling, recognizing him even from a distance in the dim light of the new moon.

"Couldn't sleep?" he said when she joined him. Madge shook her head. "Me either," he said. "I'm too worked up about tomorrow."

Unlike her, Peeta was an archaeology major. For as long as she could remember, it'd been his dream to go on an expedition such as this. The two of them had grown up together, their houses side by side, and she considered him as a brother. It was a great comfort knowing that he would be with her for the weeks to come. Despite her pride and determination, she was nervous, terrified of failing, of being as weak as Professor Crane believed. She wasn't an adventurer, never dreamt of being one. She'd never even left western Europe. The dreams didn't help. They always left her with a sense of foreboding. They felt like a dark omen, a warning not to go.

For a moment, she considered telling Peeta about her dreams, but he looked so excited, staring out to sea, eager to sail, that she swallowed back the words. _Stop being silly,_ she told herself, _there's no such thing as dark omens. Only your nerves getting the best of you._

"Are you packed?" she asked, knowing his habit of putting things off to the last minute.

"Nearly," he said. He didn't need to ask if she was. She'd probably had her bags loaded a month ago.

"Are you ready?" she said.

"Been ready all my life. You?"

 _Not at all_ , she thought, but the time to back out had already passed. Ready or not, she would board the ship tomorrow. She would prove that she was capable of handling herself out in the field, out in the desert.

* * *

The morning dawned gray and drizzly. "Perfect weather for sailing," said Peeta through a mouthful of kippers and eggs. Madge's aunt had made them a hearty breakfast. She didn't believe in travelling on an empty stomach and she'd had plenty experience, herself, with travel. She was the sort of woman who couldn't sit still for too long. Her eyes constantly ached for new sights, new wonders to behold. As Madge stirred her porridge, too nauseas to take a bite, she wished she was more like her aunt and less like her mother, who didn't even like to be driven into London by the chauffeur.

Madge rose from the table. She wanted to check her bag one last time, make certain she hadn't forgotten anything. She'd almost made it to her room, when her aunt's voice called out to her from within the study. Madge turned sharply, following the summons, and found her aunt rummaging through the study desk.

"I've got something for you," said Maysilee. "It's here somewhere. Just give me a moment."

Madge waited patiently. She browsed the leatherbound books on the shelves, accustomed to biding her time while her aunt searched for something misplaced. She was always losing things and always finding them. Her little cottage by the sea was cluttered with knick knacks from all of her travels.

"Ah ha!" she cried triumphantly, straightening up. "Found it." Madge moved closer to her. Cradled in Aunt Maysilee's hands was a little velvet pouch, which she passed to Madge. Whatever was inside wasn't heavy. "Go on, open it, dear," said Maysilee. Madge loosened the pouch string and, carefully, shook its contents into the palm of her hand.

"It's beautiful," she gasped, her nerves momentarily forgotten as she marvelled at the amulet. A vulture with a strange encircled T-shape held in its outstretched wings. Once it must've shone brightly, but the gold was dulled with age.

"I picked it up on my last trip to Egypt," said Maysilee. "I was told it possesses the power of Isis." She stepped around the desk and took the amulet from Madge's hands to clasp it around her neck. "Hopefully, if you wear it, the Great Goddess will protect you on your journey."

"Protect me from what?" said Madge teasingly. In the light of day, her nightmares held less sway. She was only afraid of failing now and doubted any ancient goddess would be much help against her own inequities.

"Snakes, scorpions, ancient curses," said Maysilee.

"Since when do you believe in curses?" said Madge. Her aunt shrugged. She touched the

amulet, nestled between Madge's collar bones.

"A little extra caution never hurt anyone," she said, moving her hand to brush a lock of hair behind Madge's ear. "Did you write to your mother?"

Madge grimaced. No, she hadn't written. Her mother's parting words still stung a week after they'd been spoken. _You're a foolish girl for going off like this. It's time you accepted your proper place in the world._ By proper place, she meant married to Cato and designing the nursery for their dozens of children. They'd parted on angry terms. Her mother just couldn't understand why she'd chosen to go to university, instead of settling down like a she was supposed to. Her mother just couldn't understand _her_ , that she wanted more from life. Aunt Maysilee, who'd never married, did understand.

"She worries about you, that's all," said Maysilee, smiling sympathetically, knowingly.

"I'll see her again soon enough," said Madge. She didn't want to think about her mother today. The open ocean waited for her, Egypt waited for her. She heard Peeta calling her name. It was time for them to head to the docks. They had a boat to catch, an adventure to live.

"Thank you for the gift," said Madge. She kissed her aunt's cheek and then hurried off to gather her bags.

* * *

Sweat dripped into Gale's eyes. The air was dry. He couldn't escape the smell of fish and camel dung. If only he'd called tails instead of heads, then it would be Katniss waiting on this filthy, crowded dock for Mellark and the journalist wannabe. To kill time, he'd sampled some of the native liquor, and now regretted his decision. The drink here was harsher than anything he'd tried before and he'd tried quite a lot. He breathed through his mouth, his stomach burning still, and focused on keeping his breakfast down.

Though he didn't much like it, he understood why Professor Abernathy chose Peeta Mellark as the one of the three of his students to go on this expedition. Mellark was a pampered, rich boy, but he was smart, top of the class, all the more reason for Gale to hate him. What he didn't understand was why the journalist wannabe had to come along. They could record their own findings just fine without her. And why did it have to be a _her_?

Gale had never met Margaret Undersee and if he'd seen her in passing, he didn't remember. He knew she was friends with Mellark and wondered if his classmate had pulled some strings to have her brought along. Professor Abernathy didn't hand out favors, but for the right price, he could be bought. How much had Mellark given him? Enough to quench his thirst for the next couple of years, no doubt. Gale had worked hard to be where he was now, nauseous and sweating on a crowded dock. This Undersee girl, whoever she was, hadn't done a damn thing to earn her place, besides being born with deep pockets.

By the time their ship pulled into the harbor, Gale had mostly regained control of his stomach, but his head throbbed and he was in a foul mood. He shielded his eyes from the scorching sun and scanned the deck. It didn't take long for him to spot Mellark, whose blonde head stood out in stark contrast to the majority of dark-haired people.

"Oy, Mellark, over here!" shouted Gale, waving his arms over his head to catch their attention. He watched them fight their way over, jostled by the crowd, and made no move to help them. He'd come this far to fetch them. They could come the rest of the way on their own. He couldn't see the Undersee girl until they finally reached him. She kept close to Mellark's back, cowering behind him like a child. Gale didn't waste any time trying to get a better look at her. He was eager to return to the hotel, where there was a bar that served drinks he could pronounce the names of.

"This way," he said brusquely, turning sharply and leading the way to where a cab was parked and waiting.

* * *

They were going to wreck. The taxi cab barrelled down the road, took hairpin turns that sent Madge, sitting in the middle of the backseat, sloshing against Peeta and the dark haired man she'd yet to be properly introduced to. She clutched Peeta's arm with both hands and closed her eyes against Alexandria whooshing past them on all sides. There would be time to take in her new surroundings later, when she was stationary, assuming they made it to the hotel in one piece. Her stomach hadn't yet recovered from three weeks at sea. _I'll never set foot on a boat again,_ she thought, _or a taxi._ From now on, she planned to walk everywhere.

"How far is the hotel?" said Peeta.

"Ten minutes, give or take," said Gale. He glanced at the girl beside him, noticed the sickly green tint to her face, and added, "Try not to barf."

Madge was trying her best. She made no promises.

* * *

The cab pulled up onto the curb in front of the hotel. Madge leapt out, straight into oncoming traffic. Peeta yanked her out of the path of a speeding Ford. "You might want to open your eyes now," he said. She did. The sun blinded her. She still couldn't see anything for a few seconds, and then the city took shape. It was nothing like she expected. Where were the ancient ruins and monuments? The camels? The sand? Looking around her at the wide, paved street lined with hotels, coffee houses, a three story National Bank on the corner, automobiles honking, men in suits and ladies in broad sunhats, she felt she hadn't left London at all. Everything was about the same, a little less modern, but modern enough.

" _This_ is Alexandria?" she said.

Peeta was too preoccupied haggling with the cab driver to have heard. Gale snorted at her disbelief. "What did you expect?" he said. "A bunch of huts and savage brown men?"

Madge flushed sunburn red. She turned to look him square in the eye and he got his first good look at her. "No," she snapped. She wasn't racist and didn't appreciate his accusation. The way he scowled at her showed quite clearly what he thought about her. "I just assumed it would feel...older."

"Primitive, you mean," said Gale. Obviously, she didn't know her history. Most of ancient Alexandria had been destroyed during the Kitos War and the tsunami of 365. Now it was one of the largest and most lucrative centers of international trade, exporting thousands of pounds of Egyptian cotton daily.

Before Madge could respond, Peeta turned back to them. "So," he said, as the cab pulled away from the curb and quickly disappeared in the heavy afternoon traffic. "Where's Professor Abernathy?"

"Where else?" said Gale.

"Ah, the bar," said Peeta, rolling his eyes. He set off for the glass-plated front doors of their hotel.

"Don't expect me to carry your bags for you, Princess," said Gale. Madge didn't respond. She tightened her grip on the handle of her suitcase and marched after Peeta. Though she and the dark-haired young man still hadn't been properly introduced, she was quite certain that she hated him.

* * *

Madge didn't bother unpacking. They wouldn't be in Alexandria long. Her room was clean and comfortable with deep red carpet and matching drapes. She fell back onto the queen bed, tired from travel. _What am I doing here?_ She wanted to return to her aunt's cottage by the sea, where it was quiet and familiar, without the noise and smell of a foreign city sneaking in through the open window. She tried to raise her heavy body to close it, but before she could muster the strength, sleep overtook her.

* * *

"Be brave, little one, and serve your god," her father said. He kissed her between the eyes, before lowering a white veil over her face and passing her to the men waiting to escort her across miles of desert to a place she'd never been, a place that was to be her home until the day she died. The men frightened her. They didn't speak, didn't smile. They were like the statues in the temple, uncaring stone.

 _I do not want to go_ , she thought, dying to scream. _I do not want to marry Pharoah._ The choice was not her's to make. Pharaoh had chosen her. Pharaoh was god and they all must serve his will. She would never see home or family again. The pain of permanent farewell kept her from looking back. Later on, when she forgot what home and family looked like, she would regret not taking a final look.

* * *

"Madge, wake up," said Peeta, shaking her from the dream. She blinked up at him, unsure of her surroundings. Were they in London? She heard city sounds...but no, it did not smell like London. Beneath the vapors of petrol, there was a spicy scent stirred round the room by the sluggish fan blades above the bed.

"Come on," said Peeta. "The others are waiting for us."

Right, she was in Alexandria, on an expedition, and the others were waiting.

* * *

Professor Abernathy and Katniss were debating the Jewish presence in Ancient Egypt.

"It's in the scrolls," said Katniss, leaning forward in her chair, voice heated. "The Exodus did happen."

Abernathy swirled the melting cubes of ice in his drink. Opposite of his pupil, he spoke in a sarcastic drawl. "And the rivers ran red with blood, all the firstborn sons were smothered by the Angel of Death, and good, ole Moses said, let my goddamn people go. Fairy tales and nonsense."

"I'm not saying the ten plagues happened," snapped Katniss. "But you can't deny the sudden disappearance of the Jews in ancient texts during Ramses the Second's reign. They must have-"

Gale rubbed his temples. He didn't understand why Katniss bothered arguing with their professor. She couldn't win. The only thing she accomplished was to worsen his stubborn headache. Peeta and the Undersee girl were taking their sweet time getting here. That was the problem with rich people. They didn't give a damn about making people wait. The world turned according to their schedule.

"You're not accounting for the records that have yet to be found," said Professor Abernathy.

"Of course not," said Katniss. "What's the point of that? The absence of something doesn't prove it's existence. If that were the case, then-"

"Sorry to keep you waiting," said Peeta, strolling into the room as though he owned it. Undersee followed like his nervous shadow. "Madge here sleeps like the dead."

Katniss huffed at being interrupted mid-point. Abernathy looked relieved. Before Katniss could continue on, acting like the new arrivals hadn't ruined her pithy punchline, the professor said, "Take a seat, pour yourselves a drink. It's time we get acquainted."

There was only one vacant chair. Peeta gestured for Madge to take it. She perched stiffly on the edge of the seat, with her gloved hands folded primly in her lap. Neither of them seemed interested in a drink. They were still finding their land legs.

"Everdeen, Hawthorne, Mellark, you all know each other," said Abernathy, looking at them each in turn, before his eyes rested on Madge. Despite being a notorious drunk, there were times, such as now, when his gaze was eerily piercing. He was smarter and more perceptive than he let on. To be the Head of Archeology at Oxford, he had to be. "So that leaves me to introduce our friend here from Journalism, Ms. Margaret Undersee. She'll be keeping a record of our adventures for the school newsletter. Anything you'd like to add, Ms. Undersee?"

Madge shook her head. She couldn't speak, even if she'd wanted to, not in this stuffy parlor with three pairs of unfamiliar eyes on her. The dark-haired boy, Hawthorne, and the girl who could be his sister were it not for their different surnames, were both looking at her like she was an outsider, someone who shouldn't be here, and right then she agreed with them.

"Moving on then," said Abernathy. "I'll be brief. The next two weeks will not be a pleasant vacation. None of you have been out in the field. The hours are long, the work is bloody slow and painfully tedious, and there aren't any hotels where we're going. That being said, I don't tolerate whining. Understood?"

"Me and Katniss are used to roughing it," said Gale, pointedly eyeing Peeta and Madge.

"We understand what we've gotten into," said Peeta, glaring back at him. Madge, however, didn't have the faintest idea what she'd gotten herself into. _You're here_ , she told herself. _No turning back. Be brave and serve your god._

Serve your god? Where had that come from? She brushed aside the strange thought.

"We leave for Karnak in the morning," said Professor Abernathy. "If you're late, I'll leave you behind. I suggest you all go enjoy your last night of modern comforts. I know I will." He held up his glass for emphasis. "Now get out of here. I'll be seeing enough of you lot over the next two weeks and I'd rather not look at you for the next twelve hours." He stared down Katniss, eager to pick up on their argument where they'd left it.

"Come on, Catnip," said Gale. "You heard the man." He took Katniss by the arm and steered her from the room behind Mellark and Undersee.

"Well, shall we go exploring?" said Peeta just outside the door.

Gale gave him a scathing look. Just because they were on this expedition together, didn't make them friends. Mellark could forget about that. "Do what you want," he said, before slinking off down the hall. Without a word, Katniss went after him.

"Friendly folk. Superb manners," said Peeta, watching them. Once they rounded the corner, he turned his attention to Madge. "What about you? Fancy taking an evening stroll through Alexandria."

"Pass," she said. "I think I'll take Abernathy's advice and enjoy the modern comfort of my feather mattress."

"Oh, come on," said Peeta. "Tell me you didn't travel all this way just to sleep."

Now that she was here, Madge couldn't remember why she'd come. To prove herself to Professor Crane, to her mother, to the world itself? In hindsight, that all seemed like childish pride. Professor Abernathy's speech had left her more in doubt than ever. If it was really going to be so terrible out there, she needed a good night's rest, hopefully without any strange dreams, to prepare herself for the trials to come.

* * *

Alone in her room, though, she was unable to drift off again. She tossed and turned all night, like a ship on the ocean, a ship that had strayed far off course and had little hope of finding safe shores.


	2. Pride

**AN:** The Arabic dialogue comes direct from Google translate, so I apologize if it's horrible. I debated about even using direct quotes, but ultimately decided it's going to be a necessity for this story. I mean no disrespect to the Arabic language and if I had unlimited time and resources, I'd love to do it justice :(

* * *

"Think we might run into Carter while we're here?" said Peeta.

Katniss gave a derisive snort. "We won't be anywhere near the Valley of Kings," she said.

Sandwiched between them in the backseat, Madge looked from one to the other. "Carter?" she said.

"Howard Carver," said Katniss, looking at her with a _don't you know anything_ expression. "You know, the archaeologist who discovered Tutankhamen's tomb last November."

Tutan who? Madge still didn't have a clue what they were talking about. After an hour in the car, listening to the lot of them exchange half-formed thoughts, which the others were able to finish and leap off from, going from point to point at a rapid fire pace, she was hopelessly confused.

"The lost king," said Peeta, coming to her rescue. "The last of the pharaohs to be found. He only reigned for nine years, between 1332 and 1323 B.C.E.. Died at the age of nineteen."

"The discovery was all over the news," said Gale from the front. He twisted around to look at Madge. "Some journalist you are. Don't you read the papers?"

"Madge focuses on politics," said Peeta. She wished he wouldn't defend her. If anything, it only served to make the others like her less.

"One of those," said Gale. "Tell me, how big is King George's stamp collection these days?"

Madge flushed, not from embarrassment, but from rage. Gale Hawthorne certainly wasn't the first person to trivialize what she did. Paired with his lazy, arrogant smirk, though, his dart struck harder than most.

"Actually," she said, "I'm working on a piece about Irish Republicanism, specifically how the Anglo-Irish Treaty made the current Civil War inevitable."

Gale feigned a yawn and turned back around to face the front. "You'll have to tell me more about that later," he said, heavy on the sarcasm. "Sounds riveting."

 _More interesting than an ancient king's mummified corpse,_ she thought. She kept quiet to keep from offending Peeta as well. The three archaeology students returned to their discussion of dead people with complicated names, Professor Abernathy snored away a hangover, and their driver pretended that none of them existed. Madge wasn't sure the man even spoke English. Her comrades might as well not be speaking English either. With nothing else to do, she stared through the windshield without really seeing. Her thoughts drifted to her paper on the Irish Civil War. She wished she'd brought along the draft to work on, but she'd assumed she would be too busy. She hadn't counted on being so excluded from the rest of them.

As she edited mentally, filing away notes and hoping to remember them by the time she had pen and paper in hand again, her eyes grew heavy, thoughts loopish and slow. She hadn't slept well the night before and the fatigue quietly caught up to her.

* * *

She was perfumed and adorned, gold beads braided into her black hair so she chimed when she turned her head, necklaces and bracelets of lapis lazuli dripping from her neck and wrists, a band of gold on each arm, and her body swathed in a beaded, white tunic of fine linen. Her eyes lined with heavy, black kohl. She looked the part of the queen, but sitting at her husband's side, while one stranger after another knelt before her and left priceless gifts at her feet, she felt like the fourteen year old girl that she was, unworthy of worship.

The celebration lasted through the night, into the morning. As the Great Ra began his chariot journey across the sky, Pharaoh rose and the revellers parted before him. She followed her husband and did not stumble under the weight of gold she wore. _Be brave, little one, be brave._ Her husband was twice her age. She wondered if his skin sagged under all of his finery. She wondered if he would be patient and kind. Was it possible for gods to be such? Would there be pain?

She would not cry. Tears were for children, not the Great Royal Wife, and even if she was a child on in the inside, she must never it show.

* * *

Madge woke to find the car was no longer moving. Her head rested on Katniss' shoulder.

"You're drooling on me," said Katniss.

From the front seat, Gale laughed. "And you snore," he said. "Not very ladylike, Undersee."

Madge straightened up and wiped the drool from her chin. Even Peeta was smiling at her expense. She reached across him to open the door and then scrambled over his lap to escape the cramped car.

Blinking in the noon sunlight, she saw they'd stopped at an outside market in the middle of nowhere. _This_ was more of what she'd expected from Egypt. Men in long tunics sat cross-legged in the sand with hand-woven blankets, laden with trinkets, spread out before them. Women in black hijab strolled through the disorderly rows of merchants. Half-naked children chased each other. Music and laughter filled the air. A man with hair down to his ankles swayed to the tune of his lute, accompanied by a young girl beating out a quick rhythm on the drum cradled in her skirted lap.

"Abernathy went to procure our ride," said Peeta, coming up behind her.

"We already have one," said Madge. She looked back to the car, at Gale and Katniss unloading their bags from the trunk, while their solemn driver watched on impatiently.

"This is the end of the road," said Peeta. "Literally."

"You didn't think we were going to drive to Karnak, did you, Sleeping Beauty?" said Gale as he dumped her satchel to the ground, sending up a cloud of sand.

Madge opened her mouth to fire a response, but Peeta silenced her with a shake of his head. "Ignore him," he said under his breath. "He's not worth fighting."

"How are we getting to Karnak, then?" said Madge, directing her question to Peeta, though she was still miffed with him for his teasing smile from moments ago. Peeta shrugged. His guess was as good as her's. Professor Abernathy wasn't the sort to write out a detailed itinerary.

Gale paid their driver with the money Abernathy had left. Moments later, the car was a blip on the endless, blue horizon. _Come back,_ thought Madge, _take me home._ Too late. The car vanished from sight.

* * *

While waiting for Professor Abernathy, Peeta and Katniss fell into a heated argument over the ethic of museums.

"I don't want to be an archeologist to steal peoples' cultural artifacts and stick them behind a glass case for a bunch of snobs to _ooo_ and _ahh_ over," said Katniss. "That's what the field is becoming."

"I disagree," said Peeta. "People are more interested in history now than ever before. Specifically ancient history. Museum exhibitions expose the fallacies in Eurocentric thinking towards ancient cultures. We're showing people that these places and these peoples have a culture that is just as deep and intricate as our own."

"Bollocks," said Katniss. "You think anyone in England really understands the significance of what they're looking at? It's all pretty trinkets to them."

Gale used a pocket knife to pry grains of sand out from under his nails. He wore a faintly amused smile. This was an argument he'd heard a thousand times before and he knew how it would end, in a huffy stalemate. Madge didn't care to hear the conclusion. Tired already of their constant bickering, she wandered away from the group to browse.

For a time, the overwhelming sense of displacement, which had plagued her since stepping off the boat, slipped away. There were all sorts of _pretty trinkets_ to immerse herself in, hand-crafted jewelry, little boxes with eye boggling designs, instruments she'd never seen before. She stopped to admire a collection of colorful scarves with silver bells worked into the shimmery fabric. A blue one caught her attention. It was the exact color of the sea by her aunt's cottage. She reached for it, wondering if her fingers would slip through the thread like water, when a man caught her wrist. She looked up and recognized him as the same man who'd been playing the lute. His eyes were narrowed, two dark and foreboding slits.

"I wasn't going to steal," she said, trying to pull her arm away. "Honest, I was only-"

The man spoke in a language she didn't understand. Arabic most likely. His voice was low and sharp. Though the words escaped her, she sensed from his tone and expression that they were not pleasant. His grip tightened, his long nails cutting into her skin, and she winced, panic rising in her throat.

"I don't understand," she said. "Please just let me go."

The man kept talking. He seemed to be repeating a single phrase. Madge tried to call for help, but there was something in his gaze that twisted her tongue into a knot. Suddenly, her vision became unfocused. She felt she was looking at the man through a cloud of thick smoke. She heard drums, but couldn't tell if the sound came from her own chest, or from outside of her, or from...somewhere else.

Then she felt another hand on her shoulder and her vision cleared. The drumming ceased quick as it had begun "Hal hnak mushkila," someone said. Madge tore her eyes from the man and turned them to Gale, standing beside her now, his hand on her shoulder. He didn't look at her. His steely gaze was fixed on the man. "Alssamah laha aldhdhahabu, sadiq," he said. Madge didn't need to understand the words he spoke to know they held a threat.

"Sawf alssahra' taltahum lak," the man said. Then he let her go. Still gripping her shoulder, Gale spun her away from the man.

"Good to see you making friends with the natives," he muttered as he led her back to the others. "But I'd advise against wandering off on your own."

Madge shook off his hand. She didn't need to be led like a packhorse and she didn't want his advice. All the same, he had rescued her from a prickly situation. Her pride made it impossible to thank him, but when she spoke, she did try to maintain a civilized tone.

"What did he say?" she asked.

"Nothing important," said Gale.

"Tell me."

Gale pursed his lips and thought for a moment, working out a translation. "The desert will devour you," he finally said. "More or less."

Madge felt a cold chill despite the burning heat. She remembered her dream of wandering the desert, dying of thirst.

"He was just trying to frighten you," said Gale. "Probably gets his kicks from making little, white girls tremble."

"I'm not frightened," said Madge. Though, in fact, she was trembling.

Gale smirked at her. "Whatever you say, Princess."

* * *

Madge couldn't decide who looked grumpier, Katniss or her camel. The one-humped beast had stopped suddenly and now refused to take another step.

"Move, you stinking, desert fleabag," Katniss growled, slapping her reigns up and down, up and down.

"Try asking nicely," said Gale. Katniss ignored him. She didn't say _please_ to people. She sure as hell wouldn't say _please_ to a camel. Professor Abernathy wasn't any help. He was too busy laughing at her expense to offer any advice.

"Try giving the commands in Arabic," said Peeta, making the first useful suggestion. That didn't work either. Finally, Abernathy sobered up enough to do something. He dismounted and, with Peeta's help, gave Katniss' camel a shove on the rear. The camel twisted its long neck around to spit at them, but otherwise remained stationary.

Madge was somewhere else. She stared out across miles and miles of sand, shimmering like gold in the merciless sunlight, sand from western horizon to eastern horizon, northern to southern. A grain of sand for every drop of water in the Atlantic Ocean. _The desert will devour you._ She couldn't shake those words from her head. She imagined the sand parting into a fanged mouth, a trap through which she'd fall to the burning center of the earth.

 _Stop it_ , she told herself, _just stop._ The man's words didn't mean anything. Like Gale had said, it was a joke, something he'd probably said to a hundred tourists to amuse himself. Still, she couldn't forget the man's eyes, his deep and frantic tone, and the drumming. What had the drumming been about? Had she imagined it? Perhaps that's what the man had meant by _devour_. After only a few hours in this sandy wasteland, she felt her very sanity was being devoured.

 _You're a journalist. You believe in facts, not cryptic omens and odd dreams. Cold, hard facts._ She blamed her location for her slip of rationality. This unfamiliar place had put her out of sorts. The sand shifted underfoot, making her mind shift as well.

Gale grew bored of watching the others' attempt to put Katniss' camel into motion. His attention turned to Margaret Undersee, deep in thought, lost in a world all her own. Her clothes looked brand new, a crisp, white shirt and plain khakis. At least she'd brought pants. He'd half expected her to show up in the hotel lobby that morning in stockings and a dress, wearing those stupid gloves that came up to her elbows. _Time to find out what she's made of,_ he thought, leading his camel over to her.

"Looks like we might be here awhile," he said. "How about a race to pass the time?"

Madge had almost forgotten she wasn't alone. She didn't much feel like racing and was about to refuse, when Gale added, "Unless, of course, you're afraid you'll lose." She turned her head to stare him down, matching his smirk with a scowl. She remembered why she was here, to prove that she was more than a spoiled, rich girl to arrogant men like Hawthorne and Professor Crane.

"First one to that dune wins," she said. Then, without waiting for a ready, set, run, she spurred forward. _Eat my sand, Hawthorne,_ she thought, leaving behind all thoughts of warnings and dreams. She flew, the hot air slapping her cheeks, blonde braid whipping at her back, urging her camel on, faster, and faster. Racing across the sand, she felt she belonged here for the first time. She didn't need to glance back to know that Gale Hawthorne was far behind, with her fears and uncertainties.

* * *

By the time Gale reached the base of the dune, Madge had already dismounted. She sat in the sand, using her camel's shadow for shade, and drinking from her canteen. She flashed a victory smile when he reigned in. He was not smirking anymore. "I thought you'd never get here," said Madge.

Gale pretended not to hear. He untied his own canteen from the strap of his saddlebags and took a greedy gulp of water. She was supposed to have lost. After all, it wasn't likely she'd rode many camels through the desert. Neither had he, but he was a quick study. Fast learning was a necessity when you grew up poor.

"The civilized thing to do at this point would be to congratulate me on my victory," said Madge. Gale wiped a dribble of water from his chin.

"Guess I'm not all that civilized," he said. "Anyway, you cheated. I wasn't ready."

 _Typical,_ thought Madge with an exaggerated eyeroll. Men were all the same. They couldn't accept being bested by a woman. Usually she let it go. _A proper lady does not argue,_ her mother would say. _A proper lady is humble and gracious from dawn to dusk._ Bugger that. Madge hadn't come all this way to be proper. Quite the opposite. She was sick of just letting things go, smiling in the face of insult, murmuring apologies when she had nothing to be sorry for.

She stood and declared, "Even if you'd had a mile head start, I still would have beaten you."

"Bold words, Undersee," said Gale, stepping towards her. "Want to put them to the test?"

She matched his step. "Happily, but I'm not sure your pride could handle another blow. Besides, I beat you once. Why should I have to do it again?"

"It wasn't a fair conte-"

"Oh, just admit you lost, Hawthorne."

"Admit you cheated."

They stood nearly toe to toe.

"Fine, I will, if you-" Madge jabbed his chest with her index finger, "-admit that you're a foul-tempered git with an ego the size of Russia."

"After you-" Gale returned her jab with one to the shoulder, "-admit that you're a toffee-nosed brat who bought her way onto this expedition, while other people had to work their arses off to get here."

Madge took a step back. So that's what he thought, that she had paid to be here. Right then she would've given her entire trust fund _not_ to be here. She meant to tell him that she'd worked just as hard as anyone, harder even, to come so far. She fought tooth and nail, every day, against her parents, her professors, her male classmates. She did triple the work just to be considered equal and still was treated as lesser.

Before she could say anything at all, however, the others caught up to them. Professor Abernathy put an abrupt end to their feud.

"Are you deaf or just dumb?" he snarled, glaring down at the pair of them. "When I said no wandering off from the group, I meant no bloody wandering off. Do it again and I swear, to every god that mankind's concocted, I'll have you expelled."

"Sorry, Sir," said Madge. "I-"

"Save it," said Abernathy. "Just get back on your damn camel. We're running out of daylight."

Now refusing to look at each other, both still fuming, Gale and Madge remounted. Madge moved to the front, putting Katniss between herself and the loathsome Hawthorne. Peeta fell in beside Gale, who was glowering intently at Madge's back.

"Don't feel too bad that she walloped you," said Peeta. "She's a champion equestrian. Been riding horseback since before she could walk just about."

Gale grunted, but made no other reply. His pride lumped in his throat. He didn't care he'd been beaten by a girl, only that he'd been beaten by a spoiled princess.

* * *

 **Hawtsee, EStrunk, catniphawthorne:** Ya'll are just the absolute best and I literally can't thank you enough for your faithful feedback. Glad you're as excited for this as I am!

 **LilL, Lady of Sign:** Hi there! Glad you enjoyed the first chapter and don't think this wildly uncanonical story is totally batshit, haha :)

To everyone reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Two new characters (who you may recognize from the lovely Hunger Games cast of characters) will be introduced in the next one. I shall say no more though...


	3. Cold Fire

At noon they came to narrow river. "It's a tributary of the Nile.," Peeta told Madge, when she asked how a river came to be in the desert. "There were nine of them in ancient times, but only two remain. This one used to be called the Canopic. Now it's referred to as the Rosetta."

 _A pretty name for an ugly river,_ thought Madge. The water was muddy brown, sluggish, almost stagnant, nothing like the quick and clear rivers of home. Mosquitoes, buzzing and breeding, clouded the surface. Within an hour, Madge was covered in itchy bites. Within two hours, she gave up on swatting at the winged blood-suckers. There were too many and she only succeeded in tiring herself.

As dusk settled over the desert, Madge spotted their destination, a little village on the Rosetta's shore. They were to spend the night here and meet their guides. "This is the last outpost of civilization," Abernathy had warned them. "If you want to turn back, you won't get another chance once leave here." Whenever Madge felt her courage begin to flag, when the heat and the mosquitoes threatened to break her resolve, she looked to Gale Hawthorne, remembered his words from earlier, and was reinvigorated by prideful determination.

A tall man with skin as black and smooth as onyx waited just outside of the village. He introduced himself as Thresh, one of their guides, and silently gestured for them to follow him. The village seemed deserted. No sound escaped the houses. No people to be seen.

"Where is everyone?" said Katniss.

"Few pale skins come here," said Thresh. Madge waited for further explanation. It didn't come, leaving her to guess. She sensed they were not wanted in the village. Hostility wavered in the silent emptiness. _Pale skins,_ she thought, glancing at her own white hands gripping the reigns of her camel. The term was fitting for herself, Peeta, and Professor Abernathy. She looked to Gale again and studied the back of his neck, noting how much darker he was than her and the others, his skin olive-brown, deeper than a summer tan. His black hair curled from sweat above his collar.

"Madge," said Peeta, summoning her attention. She turned to the sound of his voice and found he'd dismounted. They had stopped at one of the sandstone houses. She slid down from her camel, expecting her feet to sink in the sand, but the ground was dense, holding firm under her weight.

"My sister prepared food," said Thresh. He nodded to the open door. "I will take your camels for water."

"I'll go with you," said Gale.

"Me too," said Peeta. Thresh shrugged, as if he didn't care either way. When Peeta moved away from her, Madge was tempted to grab his arm, keep him at her side, but she restrained herself.

"Hurry back," she said under her breath. Peeta flashed a smile over his shoulder and then hurried after Thresh and Gale. _The desert will devour you,_ thought Madge, watching them go.

"I don't know about you girls," said Abernathy, "but I vote we don't wait for them. I'm starving."

"I'll second that," said Katniss. Madge didn't want to go anywhere without Peeta. Neither did she want to wait alone as darkness fell on the deathly silent village. _The desert will devour you._ An icy shiver travelled down her spine. She followed Katniss into the sandstone house.

* * *

The house had two rooms separated by a beaded curtain. Instead of a fireplace there was a ring of stones in the center of the larger front room, with an opening above in the thatched roof to allow the smoke out. _They call this a home,_ Mrs. Undersee would say, _it's barbaric._ But Madge felt comfortable here, with four sturdy walls between her and the endless desert, a fire roaring, and the heavy smell of garlic tickling her eyes and nose. Bundles of spices hung from the ceiling. A faded tapestry covered the far eastern wall. There were no couches, no velvet-lined footstools, no radios. Madge sat cross-legged on a horsehair rug with a wooden bowl cradled in her lap.

Katniss and Professor Abernathy were already on their second helping of the garlicky green paste, but Madge had yet to take a bite. The color made her wary. She felt a pair of eyes on her and looked up to find Thresh's sister watching intently from across the room. The girl was as small as her brother was large. Tightly sprung black curls framed a round face with deep brown eyes. Wondering how long the girl had spent on preparing supper for them, and not wanting to be rude, Madge took a bite of the odd paste. The taste was unexpectedly wonderful. She took another bite, and another, realizing how hungry she was. From across the room, the girl smiled at her.

Madge scooped out the last of the paste from her bowl with a slice of pita bread and savored the bite a moment before swallowing. Her tongue burned from the garlic. She drained the wooden cup of water at her feet and was still thirsty. Without needing to be asked, the girl refilled her cup from a clay pitcher. Madge returned her smile. She tried to remember the Arabic word for thank you, but it wouldn't come to her, not now that her belly was full and her thoughts sluggish from fatigue and the heat of the fire.

"Thank you," she said in English. The girl nodded, which Madge hoped meant she understood, before setting about gathering their empty bowls. Madge turned to Katniss, stretched out on the sandy floor with her hands folded over her stomach and eyes half closed. "Can you ask what her name is?"

Katniss propped up onto her elbows and said, "Ma aismak?"

"Rue," said the girl.

 _Rue,_ thought Madge, glad for a name she could pronounce. "Does she speak English?"

Katniss shrugged, and then flopped back down. "Ask her," she said, her eyelids drooping again. "I'm not your personal translator."

Madge opened her mouth to ask, but just then the others returned. "So, what's for dinner?" said Gale, strolling through the door after Thresh, with Peeta close behind.

"Fava beans," said Katniss.

"Your sister is a damn good cook," added Abernathy. Thresh made no reply. He seemed a man of few words. Madge didn't know if his English was limited or if it was just his nature. She suspected the latter. Their guide's eyes shone with keen intelligence. Despite his bulk, he moved like a dancer. His face looked to have been carved by ancient gods. She didn't realize she was openly staring at him until Peeta poked her in the ribs.

While Peeta, Gale, and Thresh ate, Abernathy drank from his flask, Katniss appeared to have fallen asleep, and Rue continued tidying up. Everyone seemed content to let the crackling of the fire serve as the only conversation. As Madge watched the smoke twirl up and up through the hole in the roof, into the inky night sky, she slipped into a trance. She ached from a long day of riding, but the longer she looked at the smoke, the more removed she became from her body, until she didn't feel it at all. Pictures took shape in the smoke and flames. Figures dancing to the beat of drums. Fiery clouds blown across a white sky. A woman limping over miles and miles of desert. The woman looked over her shoulder, as if she knew she was being watched. She opened her mouth and smoke poured out, forming a single word, _thirst._

Then Madge was being shaken gently. She tore her eyes from the fire, looked to Peeta. "Bedtime," he said through a yawn. "Another long day tomorrow."

"Longer," said Abernathy from his corner. Rue and Thresh were gone. She hadn't heard them leave, but guessed they'd gone into the other room. The beaded curtain swayed. Peeta unrolled their sleeping mats. He glanced at Katniss, passed out on the bare ground.

"Think we should wake her up?" he said. "She can't be comfortable."

"Looks comfortable to me," said Gale. Peeta, looking uncertain still, hovered over her. "If you want to risk waking her, go on," said Gale. "It's your funeral, Mellark."

Peeta retreated to his mat. Madge hadn't moved. She was staring at the fire again. Nothing was there. No woman. No voice that apparently only she had heard. _You must have drifted off for a moment,_ she told herself, lying down. As soon as she closed her eyes, she drifted off again. Thankfully, she didn't dream this time.

* * *

Gale towered over the sleeping, blonde princess. The others were already up and outside, preparing the camels, but Peeta had insisted they let Madge sleep awhile longer. Awhile longer was over now. The first faint rosy light of dawn spilled in from the open door, yet Gale hesitated. When she was asleep, Madge Undersee was almost tolerable. She had her hands fisted under her chin, knees tucked against her stomach, and her tangled blonde braid snaked across her neck. He thought it might be kinder to let her keep sleeping, let her stay here. She looked incredibly small, all curled up. Too small for the wilds of the desert. He didn't understand her or why she was here. She didn't know anything about Egypt and didn't seem to care. That irked him almost as much as her privilege. This expedition was important to him, to Katniss, even to Peeta. He knew why the three of them had come. But Madge? She was a mystery, the piece that didn't fit.

 _Doesn't matter,_ he thought, crouching down beside her. Whether he understood or not, whether he disliked her presence, she was here and he was wasting time. "Undersee," he hissed, prodding her shoulder. Peeta hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said she slept like the dead. "Oy, Undersee, wake up." Still nothing. Growing impatient, he flicked her between the eyes, hard, but not too hard. Madge sprung up like a loosed coil.

"G'morning, Sleeping Beauty," said Gale. She grumbled incoherently in response. His grinning face being the first thing she saw, she didn't find anything good about this morning.

"You hit me," she said, rubbing the sore spot between her eyes.

"Oh please," said Gale. "I gave you a little flick, that's all." He rose from his crouch and offered out his hand to help her up. Madge continued to glare. She looked at his hand as she might a poisonous snake.

"Suit yourself," said Gale, letting his hand drop to his side. "You might want to hurry. Abernathy's getting impatient."

Then he left her to glower at the empty air.

* * *

Madge longed for a bath, but there wasn't time and she didn't see any tubs around. She made do with washing her face and arms with what remained of last night's water, before joining the others outside. Thresh and Professor Abernathy stood deep in conversation. They spoke Arabic, so she didn't bother eavesdropping.

"Stay," said Katniss, approaching her camel with both hands raised in a gesture of peace. "Good fleabag, just stay right there." As soon as she was within reach of the camel, it clomped off a few feet, froze, stared back at her in disdain. Madge watched this pattern continue for a few minutes, before taking pity on her companion.

"He knows you don't like him," she said.

"Yeah, well, the feeling appears to be mutual," said Katniss. Madge stepped around her. She met the camel's stubborn gaze, held out her hand, and gave a low whistle, like she'd seen men from the marketplace doing yesterday. The camel came to her.

"Behave now," said Madge sternly. She grabbed the reins and passed them over to Katniss. The camel snorted, but stayed still. Katniss looked from Madge to the humped devil with an expression of pinched wonder.

"How do you do that?" she said.

"Camels are smarter than horses," said Madge. "They understand us better than you might think. Don't call him fleabag anymore. He recognizes an insult when he hears one."

Katniss studied her a moment longer. "Thanks," she finally said, as if the word physically pained her to speak. Madge smiled. It was a start at least. She understood why Katniss Everdeen was so guarded and severe all of the time. Oxford University had only begun accepting women as full students three years ago. Most women preferred to continue on at the women's' only colleges. Of approximately two thousand attendees at Oxford, only fifty or so were female. Katniss and Madge were alone in their fields. They had no women fellows, no women professors, no support. Surviving in such an environment did not allow for any show of weakness. Madge dared to hope that she could return from this expedition with an ally. Friendship, however, didn't seem likely.

Madge looked around for a new conversation starter. Her eyes landed on Rue, sitting atop her own camel, laden with packs. "She isn't coming with us, is she?" said Madge.

"Seems like it," said Katniss.

"But she's just a little girl," said Madge, shocked. Someone chuckled behind her. She turned to find Gale listening in on the conversation.

"What?" she snapped at him.

"We're letting you come with us, aren't we?" he said.

Madge had never wanted to hurt someone before, but right then, she sent up a silent prayer that he'd fall from his camel and break his neck before the day was over. Too angry to speak, she marched off, brushing past Peeta.

"What's wrong?" he said. "You look like someone put a beehive in your pillowcase."

Madge ignored him. She swung into her saddle and sped after Thresh and Rue, wanting to put as much distance between herself and Gale Hawthorne as possible. Even if she put the whole desert between them, it still wouldn't be enough.

* * *

Undersee refused to speak. When they stopped for lunch, she continued not speaking, despite Mellark's attempts to draw a word or two from her. Now she rode as far from the others as she could without earning another chastisement from Abernathy. Gale didn't care if she stayed mute for the remainder of the expedition. In fact, he hoped she would. He didn't care that Mellark glared back at him every few minutes, either. He was, however, troubled by the fact that Katniss wasn't talking to him.

"What's with the cold shoulder, Catnip?" he said. She cast him a stony eyed glance, but said nothing. "Are you and Undersee best mates now? Is this some kind of lady loyalty thing? If I recall correctly, only yesterday you called her the pampered princess of pigshit and pearls."

"She's alright," said Katniss. Gale snorted in disbelief.

"Because she helped with your camel?" he said. "You know she was only showing off. Throwing all of those private riding lessons in your face."

Katniss didn't believe that. There'd been nothing condescending about Madge Undersee's advice. Only kindness, only camaraderie. In that moment, Katniss had felt guilty about calling the girl a pampered princess of pigshit and pearls. She was struck by the hypocrisy of hating someone just because of the family they'd been born into, when she'd spent her whole life fighting those very same prejudices. Peeta was a decent enough guy despite coming from money. She supposed Madge Undersee deserved a chance.

And maybe Gale was right. Maybe it was, in part, a _lady loyalty_ thing. Gale had always supported equal rights for women. His mother was a suffragette, after all. A few years ago, he'd marched alongside Katniss and Mrs. Hawthorne for their right to vote, but he didn't truly understand what it was like to be a woman in a man's world. They'd won the vote, they were accepted at Oxford, technically speaking, but the war was far from over.

"We're stuck with her whether you like it or not," said Katniss. "We might as well give her a chance. It's only fair. Besides, she's held up under the circumstances so far."

"We've only been in the desert for two days," said Gale.

"I'm not talking about the desert," said Katniss. "I'm talking about you." She clucked her tongue and pulled ahead of him to catch up to Madge. Gale made an ugly face at her back. He felt he'd just been given a lecture by his mother. Only his mother would've used much stronger words. _You be nice to that girl,_ she'd say, _or I'll give you such a whooping you won't be able to sit for a week. I don't care how old you are. I didn't raise you to be so disrespectful._

He looked to Madge and Katniss. They didn't seem to be talking. Nor did Undersee try to escape. She'd taken off her white blouse and tied it around her waist. _You'll regret that later,_ thought Gale. The sun was fierce. Her lily white skin didn't stand a chance against it. _Idiot._ Why was she here? For the adventure? No, she didn't strike him as much of an adventurer and she certainly hadn't come for a love of ancient cultures. He supposed the best way to find out would be to ask her. As much as he told himself that it didn't matter, he didn't care, his curiosity burned brighter by the hour. Girls like her didn't volunteer to rough it across desert wastelands. Girls like her didn't write about Irish Civil Wars. Girls like her...simply didn't exist.

* * *

According to Oxford rules, Madge and Katniss were supposed to share a tent, but Professor Abernathy didn't care where they slept as long as they kept quiet about it back home. Without discussing the matter, it was agreed that Peeta and Madge would take one tent, Gale and Katniss the other. Abernathy, of course, had brought his own. Thresh and Rue settled apart from the group. They kept to themselves, spoke only to each other, when they spoke at all. Madge was curious about their guides, especially the little girl. She hoped to have the chance to talk to them, explore how their lives differed from her own, but they formed such an impenetrable set. She wondered if they felt the same about the _pale skins._

Peeta had fallen asleep as soon as he laid down. After two days of riding, Madge was more exhausted than she'd ever been, yet sleep eluded her. She rolled from side to side, trying to find a position that didn't irritate her sunburn. Useless. Her arms, back, and chest were red and blistered. The sand caught in her clothes felt like shards of glass against her skin. How did Aunt Maysilee live like this, always travelling, always uncomfortable? Her stories were so wonderful. She never mentioned the blisters, the fatigue, the stench of sweating all day and not having enough spare water for washing. Madge didn't care how ugly, how muddy, or how parasite infested the Rosetta was. If they hadn't left it behind miles ago, she'd dive right in.

Finally, she gave up on comfort, accepted the pain, and focused on the firelight shadows dancing across the canvas walls of the tent. Time unravelled. Minutes passed. Or maybe hours. Maybe days, weeks, centuries...

* * *

The Nile floods. The Nile fades. Seasons pass through her hands like grains of sand. Nothing changes. Pharaoh comes to her at night and leaves before Ra takes to the sky in flaming chariot. She rarely sees him in the daylight hours. She rarely sees anyone other than the servants who feed her, clothe her, paint her in henna and kohl. She is never alone. There is always someone attending to her, watching her.

She is always alone. Day and night, she dreams of home. She is laughing with her sisters. Mother brushes her hair. Father points to the stars and calls them by holy name.

The Nile floods. The faces of her family wash away. The Nile fades. The names of her people turn to dust. No one laughs with her. Strangers brush her hair. The stars are cold gods.

Pharaoh is displeased that she is not yet with child. He goes to his lesser wives more and more. If she gave him a son, would he love her? Would the people love her? If she is a barren desert, will they allow her to go home? Never. She is the Great Royal Wife. She must serve to the death. When Pharaoh does not come, when he comes and leaves, she cries into her pillow and prays the servants do not hear.

* * *

The sand muted Gale's footsteps. He moved across the tent, past Peeta, using the faint flicker of flame from his zippo to guide him. Like this morning, Madge slept in a little ball of curled limbs. He knelt, reached out to shake her awake, and then froze, his hand hovering over her shoulder. Tears streaked her cheeks. For a moment, he thought she was already awake, but her eyes were closed, her breathing deep and even. She was crying in her sleep. Was she dreaming? Apart from the tears, she seemed perfectly calm. No nightmarish thrashing. No frightened whimpers.

Before he realized what he was doing, as if needing proof that his eyes weren't playing tricks on him in the dark, he touched her cheek, felt its dampness, and quickly pulled back his hand. Her skin should have been hot from the sunburn, but instead it was impossibly cold. _Maybe I'm the one dreaming,_ he thought. There was something eerie about her silent tears, something frightening and unnatural, something he couldn't explain. His fingertips were numb where he had touched her. He'd come determined to ask why she was here. Now he only wanted to run.

As he rose, eager to be far away from Undersee and her sad dreams, he noticed that she was shivering. He bent down again for the blanket tangled at her feet and covered her, before retreating from the tent. Outside, the fire had just about burned out. He held his hands over the smouldering coals. _Get a grip, Hawthorne,_ he told himself, curling and uncurling his cold fingers. _You're imagining things. You need to sleep._ But he was reluctant to leave the warmth of the dying fire, even after the odd feeling he'd experienced in the tent faded away.

* * *

 **AN:** This isn't really where I wanted to end the chapter, but it would have been too long otherwise. Relations between Gale and Madge will improve in the next installment, dear readers ;) As for the mysterious dreams, well, you're just going to have to be patient, haha.

 **P.S.** As much as I love Katniss and Peeta...I wish that Thresh and Rue had won the 74th Hunger Games.


	4. Stories

According to Thresh, Karnak was still two days away. Madge loved riding, but she missed the speed of modern transportation. Someone needed to invent an automobile that could cross the desert. Then again, she supposed there wasn't much of a market for cars like that. Tourists didn't wander far from the cities. Not even the natives ventured out here. The nearest villages were situated along the Nile, eight hundred kilometers away. How did people survive in this place centuries ago? When she voiced her question aloud, Peeta gave a simple answer, "Rainwater and aqueducts." She found it difficult to believe it ever rained here. The sky unfolded in continuous blue, unbroken by a single cloud. The sun reigned supreme.

To pass the time and forget the oppressive heat, Madge asked questions about their destination. Peeta was eager to answer. Even Katniss chimed in. "Karnak was built to honor the Theban Triad," she said.

Before Madge could ask who, or what, the Theban Triad was, Peeta elaborated, "The three most popular gods in Thebes. Amun, the sun god. His wife, Mut, the creator goddess. And their son, Khonsu, the god of moon and time."

"She who gives birth, but was herself not born of any," said Katniss, almost reverently. She noticed Madge's perplexed expression. "One of Mut's many titles," she explained. "Her origins are parthenogenetic, which means-"

"Asexually," said Madge. A half smile flickered at the corner of Katniss' lips.

"She's often depicted as a vulture or wearing a vulture headdress," said Peeta.

"In earlier times, she was sometimes shown as a man," added Katniss.

"And as a member of the Great Mother and Lady deity, she has the feet of a lion and three heads," said Peeta.

"Don't forget about her gloriously erect penis," said Gale. Madge whipped her head around, startled by the nearness of his voice. She hadn't heard his approach. A blush rose to her cheeks and she was grateful for the concealment provided by her sunburn. _As if you've never heard the word penis before,_ she thought, annoyed with herself. She wasn't as naive or sheltered as he believed her to be, and yet here she was, acting the part, blushing like a schoolgirl. _Ridiculous._

"I hate to interrupt your history lesson, but I was hoping we could talk alone for a minute," said Gale.

"About what?" said Peeta, not troubling to conceal his suspicion.

Gale kept his eyes on Madge as he answered. "If I wanted you to know, Mellark, then I wouldn't be asking you to bugger off."

Peeta stiffened in his saddle. His eyes narrowed. Very rarely did he lose his temper. Madge sensed one of those rare moments was upon them now. She didn't want to be the cause of a fight between them. After all, once this expedition was over, she could forget Gale Hawthorne existed, never had to see him again, but he and Peeta were colleagues. They wouldn't be able to avoid each other back home. Besides, she didn't need, or want, Peeta to defend her honor. Though he was like a brother to her, though she loved him dearly, his tendency to be overprotective often irritated her.

"Go on, give us a minute," said Madge. Peeta hesitated. He continued to glare at Gale, who continued not to care.

Katniss broke the tension. "You heard the lady." She reached for Peeta's reins and gave them a tug, leading his camel away alongside her own. Peeta scowled over his shoulder, so Madge flashed a smile to prove that she really was quite alright. As soon as he turned around, the smile melted. She refused to look at Gale, waited for him to speak, and kept waiting. She felt they travelled a hundred more miles before he finally uttered a word.

"Why are you here?" he said. Madge wasn't prepared for the question. She'd expected more insults and almost would have preferred them. Now it was Gale who waited. He wasn't nearly as patient. "Do you plan on joining a nunnery?"

"What?" said Madge, looking at him before she could stop herself. Her sunburnt brow furrowed in confusion.

"Thought you might be practicing a vow of silence," said Gale.

"I'm thinking," she snapped.

"It's a simple question."

Madge turned her gaze back to the faraway horizon. She supposed it was a simple question, but the answer was a tangle of thorns. She was afraid to say why she was here, afraid that he would scoff and sneer. _Ridiculous,_ she thought again. He was just a silly boy. What did she care about his opinions of her? Still, she couldn't bring herself to answer truthfully, so she diverted with another question. "Why do you care?"

"I don't really," said Gale. Madge didn't believe him. If he didn't care, he wouldn't ask. He didn't believe himself, either. "I'm curious, that's all. You don't belong out here. You don't even seem to want to be here. Did you think this was going to be a vacation? Were you that bored of your summer house in Saint-Tropez, or Lake Como, or wherever?"

"I didn't pay to be here," said Madge. Her temper sizzled. "Professor Abernathy asked me to come."

"And you agreed," said Gale.

"Yes."

"Why?"

She fell silent again. Gale pressed on. "Are you rebelling against your parents? Do they want you to marry some rich, old lord and you hopped on a boat to postpone the inevitable?"

"The inevitable?" said Madge.

"That's how it goes for girls like you."

Madge's temper flared into a raging wildfire. _Girls like you._ He didn't know the first thing about her. She faced him. The fury in her ice-blue eyes struck like a whip. "What's your problem with me? You don't mind Katniss being here and-"

"It's got nothing to do with what's between your legs, Undersee," said Gale. "I don't care that you're a girl."

"Only that I'm wealthy," she said. "So is Peeta. Obviously you don't like him much, either, but you accept him well enough."

"Yeah, well, Mellark actually cares about what we're doing here. You don't."

"Stop assuming to know anything about me," said Madge. She refused to admit that he was right. About her. About anything. If he told her that the sky was blue, she'd insist that it was green.

"Then just answer my question," said Gale. "Why are you here?"

"To prove to you and every other narrow-minded man that I can be," said Madge. "To prove that I'm just as good as any of you. I can be a field journalist. I can...I can be more than some rich lord's wife. I choose the direction of my life. Nothing is inevitable."

The words came out with such force, they startled her as much, maybe more, as they did him. She panted as if she'd just run a marathon. For a moment, they stared at each other. Gale was struck mute by her answer. Her expression was so undeniably earnest, her declaration resonant with unrestrained passion, that he felt a surge of shame for all of his preconceived judgments.

"There's your answer," said Madge, her voice stiff in the aftermath of her outburst. "Are you satisfied?"

"Yes," said Gale. "I…" An apology stuck to the roof of his mouth. It refused to come loose. "I think we got off on the wrong foot."

Madge let loose a very unladylike snort. "And whose fault is that?"

"Mine," he admitted. "I'd like to start over, though, if you'll give me a chance."

Madge studied him a moment. There wasn't a trace of arrogance in those gray eyes now. He was sincere. Still, she took his appearance with a grain of salt. "Why should I give you anything?" she said.

"We'll be seeing a lot of each other over the next two weeks," said Gale. "Hating me is a drain on your energy and the desert is draining enough.

"I appreciate your concern for my well-being, but I assure you, I've enough energy to survive both you and the desert."

Gale smiled. Not a smirk, but an honest smile. "Fair enough," he said. "I guess I'll have to prove that I'm not just another narrow-minded man."

"You can try," said Madge. She spurred ahead to rejoin the others and allowed herself to return his smile only once her back was safely turned to him.

* * *

Katniss watched Thresh with interest as he built their fire. There was no wood for kindling. No trees in the desert. He used cakes of dry camel dung and scrub brush. "Genius," said Katniss. For once, her expression was easy to read. She didn't bother to hide how impressed she was. She spoke animatedly to Thresh in Arabic, asking questions, which he answered in terse monosyllables. Though she was equally impressed, Madge expected the smell to be awful and kept out of range of the smoke. Desert nights were cold. The drop in temperature was sudden and severe. She hadn't thought to bring warmer clothes. After Peeta finished setting up their tent, he joined her.

"I should have warned you about the cold," he said, draping a blanket over her shoulders.

"No," said Madge. "I should've done more research. You're not my keeper."

"I did promise your father to look after you."

Madge rolled her eyes. She imagined the conversation they must've had in her father's study, sitting across from each other in fine leather chairs, sipping brandy, discussing her like she was a child in need of being looked after. Both of them meant well, of course, but that didn't stop her from being peeved. She didn't want to think about her parents, not here, not now. They were half a world away, where they belonged.

"I can take care of myself," said Madge. "I don't need a nanny."

Peeta winced at her harsh tone and she felt guilty for snapping at him. He meant well. He always did. She stuck her hand out from under the blanket to take his hand. "I'm sorry," she said. "It's been a long day. I'm tired. Ignore me."

"Ignore you?" Peeta squeezed her hand. "Never," he said, smiling. "I'm glad you're here. There's no one else in the world I'd rather share this adventure with."

Madge returned his smile, all of her hard feelings gone. She followed him to the fire where the others, aside from Thresh and Rue who had retired to their own separate camp, were already assembled. She sat cross-legged between Peeta and Professor Abernathy. Surprisingly, the smell from the burning dung wasn't bad at all. She was content to listen to the others discuss their final destination while they ate. Even though she still didn't understand much of the conversation, she found she didn't mind. She'd adjusted to the way they spoke to each other as if they were back home in a classroom.

Once they'd all finished their supper, the conversation lulled. Professor Abernathy stretched out on his back. Katniss took a book from her satchel, cracked it open across her knees, and began to read by firelight. Madge watched Peeta draw pictures in the sand, until she felt the prick of keen eyes on her forehead. She looked up to find Gale staring at her. He flashed a grin and, feeling a sudden warmth that had nothing to do with the fire, she quickly dropped her gaze to the ground again. She was undecided whether she liked him any better after their conversation that afternoon, but either way, whatever her opinion of him, she couldn't deny that he was strikingly handsome. Most of the men in her acquaintance were well-groomed, sleek-haired, finely dressed. None of the suitors her parents paraded before her had ever stirred much heat or interest. They all might as well be the same person. Gale Hawthorne, however, with his messy dark hair and roguish grin, was a different beast entirely.

"Anyone know any good campfire stories?" said Gale.

Peeta looked up from his sand drawings. "Tell them about Sker House," he said to Madge.

"No one wants to hear about that," she said.

"I could do with a good story," said Professor Abernathy. "Go on, Miss Undersee, entertain us."

All eyes were on Madge now. Even Katniss looked up from her book. Madge sighed. It'd be rude to refuse. She took a moment to organize her thoughts, then began the telling. "There is a house, the Sker House, in Kenfig, Wales. In the early 1800s, a gentleman farmer by the name of Isaac Williams lived there with his two daughters, Mary and Elizabeth. The girls often went dancing at the Town Hall and it was here that Elizabeth met Thomas Evans, a local harpist. As it happens, the two fell madly in love."

"Of course they did," said Katniss dryly.

"Don't interrupt," said Gale. He nodded at Madge to continue.

"Isaac was furious when he discovered his daughter's secret tryst," said Madge. "He didn't think the harpist was good enough for Elizabeth and forbid her from seeing him. Elizabeth didn't care what her father thought. She and Thomas planned to elope. On the appointed night, Thomas hired a coach and horses. As he approached Sker House, the father's hunting dogs went into a frenzy. Afraid they would wake their master, Thomas turned around and left without his beloved."

"Coward," muttered Katniss. Gale elbowed her in the ribs.

"It was too late, however," said Madge. "Isaac had already woken. He saw the coach speed away. He guessed who the driver was and why they had come. To ensure that a second attempt at elopment never occurred, he locked Elizabeth in her room. For years she was kept there, until her father found a suitable husband for her. She died shortly after she was married. Some say the cause was a broken heart."

This time it was Professor Abernathy who interrupted with a derisive snort. "Probably just tuberculosis," he said.

"Whatever the case," said Madge, "people who visit Sker House today claim to hear screeching, screaming, and wailing. They say they see dark shadows and, supposedly, just stepping foot into the room where Elizabeth was kept makes people horribly ill."

"Sounds like a great place to vacation," said Gale. "I'll have to go someday."

"That's a horrible story," said Katniss. Her expression was stony. "What gave him the right to lock her up like a criminal just for being in love."

"In love with the wrong man," said Abernathy. "Father's have done worse to disobedient daughters."

Madge shivered. She drew the blanket tighter around her shoulders. She was glad that her father hadn't tried to imprison her. He didn't agree with her choices, but he wasn't a cruel man. Thinking of poor Elizabeth, she was grateful for her own parents for once.

Katniss raged on about the ill-treatment of women throughout history, speaking more than Madge had ever heard her speak, until Peeta interrupted. "You're lecturing the wrong people, Everdeen. I don't think anyone here would lock their daughters away as punishment."

"Speak for yourself," said Abernathy, getting to his feet. He cast a wry smile in Katniss' direction. "If you were mine, I'd put you somewhere sound-proof."

Katniss glared back at her professor. She knew he was only joking and she didn't find him funny in the least. Without another word to any of them, she leapt to her feet and stormed off to her tent. The canvas flap slapped angrily behind her.

"Thanks a lot," said Gale. "I have to share a tent with her, you know."

Abernathy's smile grew. "Have fun with that," he said, before going off to his own tent.

"I think I'll turn in, too," said Peeta. He stood and then offered his hand to Madge. She wasn't tired yet, but Gale didn't seem interested in leaving the fire anytime soon, and she didn't want to be alone with him, so she let Peeta pull her up.

"Sweet dreams, Princess," Gale called after them. Madge grimaced at the nickname. If he was trying to prove that he wasn't just another narrow-minded man, he'd have to stop calling her that.

* * *

Pharoah emerges from the Luxor Temple cleansed of all the year's sin. Once more he is the untainted vessel of divine strength and generosity. Loaves of bread and jars of beer have been bequeathed to the people of Thebes, rich and poor alike, so that all may partake in the Beautiful Feast of Opet. While her husband basks in the peoples' gratitude, the Great Royal Wife sits in a private audience chamber within the temple. During the twenty-seven day festival, the gods will answer any questions asked of them. The Great Royal Wife has waited many days for this moment. She dismissed her servants at the door. Her question is for the gods alone.

"Ask and you shall know," the oracle says. His disembodied voice comes from a hidden window high up in the wall.

"Will I ever give Pharaoh a son?" she asks. Four years she has been wed. Four years she has failed to produce a child. Sweat beads across her brow. A fan rests in her lap, but she is too anxious to make use of it. The oracle is silent as he confers with the Great Ones. Then his voice, cool and sharp like the blade of a knife, falls upon her once again.

"No," he says.

The Great Royal Wife turns cold. She clutches her empty womb. Why would the gods curse her? She has always been faithful with her prayers and offerings. "Is there nothing I can do?" she says. "Anything the gods ask of me, they may have, if only they will bless me with a son."

"The gods will not be swayed," says the oracle from his hidden nook. "You will bear no children."

Perfumed incense clouds her thoughts and vision. She expects sorrow and is instead filled with rage. This faceless man is no true prophet. She cannot believe the gods would punish her so when she has committed no crime.

The Great Royal Wife rises. She departs the audience chamber without giving the respectful parting words to the oracle. _He does not speak for the gods,_ she thinks. _It cannot be._ She will find another oracle. She will ask her question until she receives the answer she longs to hear.

* * *

The smell of incense tickled Madge's nose, making her sneeze. When she opened her eyes, the smell faded to nothing and she brushed it aside as a sensory left-over from her dream. She remembered more of this one than the others. She'd been in small room with painted walls. A voice had come from the ceiling, but she hadn't been able to see the speaker. There'd been a woman, too, but she sat with her back to Madge. Her long black hair, braided with multi-colored beads, was all that Madge had seen of her. Who was the woman?

 _No one,_ Madge told herself, _just a figure in a dream._ Though she knew she should try to go back to sleep, her eyes refused to close. Her blood hummed, urging her to move. The canvas walls seemed to be closing in around her. Quietly, so as to not wake Peeta, she slipped out of the tent and breathed a sigh of relief as the dry, desert air opened up around her. For a moment she stood just outside of the tent, her arms wrapped around her stomach, and waited for the last trace of her sudden claustrophobia to trickle away. These damned dreams were beginning to annoy her. The days were long and arduous. She needed her strength to face them, but the dreams made it impossible to catch a full night's rest.

"You alright?" said Gale, startling her. She hadn't noticed him still sitting by the low-burning fire.

"Yes," she said. She was perfectly fine. The dream hadn't even been frightening. Just odd. Madge turned to go back into the tent, but staring into the closed-in darkness, she changed her mind and joined Gale instead.

"Can't sleep?" he said. She shook her head. "Is it your sunburn?"

"Yes," said Madge. She didn't want to tell him the real reason she was awake. He'd only tease her. Besides, how could she explain the unease she felt, when she didn't understand it herself?

Gale disappeared into his tent. _Rude,_ thought Madge. She supposed he didn't want to be alone with her anymore than she wanted to be alone with him. Only now, after the dream, she craved company, even if it was _his_ company. When he reappeared a few minutes later, she was almost grateful.

"This should help," he said, dropping something into her lap, before returning to the other side of the fire. Madge inspected the little jar he'd given her. There was some kind of greenish-white ointment inside. She looked at Gale with mistrustful eyes. If he thought she was stupid enough to put anything he gave her on her skin, then he was the stupid one. Knowing him, the ointment was probably camel dung mixed with cactus thorns.

Gale rolled his eyes. "It's just aloe and potato paste," he said. "Katniss' mother made it. She's good with home remedies."

Still not quite believing him, Madge unscrewed the lid of the jar and sniffed. Aloe, a hint of vinegar, and mint. Smelled harmless enough. She scooped out a dollop with two fingers and tested it against her wrist. Immediately her skin cooled, the sting lessened. She slathered more onto her arms and face. When she tried to reach her shoulders, she winced. Her stiff and aching muscles didn't want to bend.

In a flash, Gale was by her side once more. He snatched the jar from her lap and knelt down behind her. Before she could ask what he was doing, she felt his hands on her shoulders. Madge opened her mouth to protest. No sound came out. His hands were calloused, but his touch was gentle as he smoothed the cooling ointment over her burnt skin. It felt...wonderful.

His hand moved to the back of her neck. It wasn't proper, to let him touch her this way. Mrs. Undersee would have a heart attack if she knew her daughter was alone with a man, at night, unchaperoned, wearing a sleeveless undershirt. A man she'd met a few days ago. A man she didn't even like.

When Gale finished, he settled down beside her instead of returning to his place across the fire. Her blush didn't escape his notice, but he decided not to mention it. He didn't want to ruin their shaky truce, though he couldn't keep from grinning. Luckily she wasn't looking at him.

"Better?" he said.

Madge nodded. She was afraid if she spoke, there'd be a tell-tale tremble in her voice. She did feel much better and not just her sunburn. The restlessness from her dream was gone, but she still wasn't ready to risk sleep again. After a few minutes, once she was certain she could control her voice, she said, "You know why I'm here, but I don't know about you."

"It's kind of obvious, isn't it?," said Gale. "I'm not in the Archaeology Department to become a lawyer, you know."

Madge gave him a sideways look. For some reason, she suspected there was more to it than that. "But why?"

"Why what?" said Gale.

"Why do you want to devote your life to studying dead people? There's not much money in it and, no offense, it seems like a waste of time."

Gale met her stare. "Does Mellark know how much you esteem his future profession?" he said. Madge's blush deepened. She'd never told Peeta how she truly felt about his decision to go into archaeology. His parents chastised him enough. They wanted him to be a doctor, or a lawyer, something more fitting to his station in life.

Gale stretched out his long legs, his feet to the fire, and looked out across the desert, the sand painted silver by moonlight. She'd been honest with him about why she was here. He supposed he owed her the same.

"This place is in my blood. My grandmother came from here," he said. His expression changed from teasing to serious. His Egyptian heritage wasn't something he shared with many people. His mother, siblings, and himself were fair skinned enough to pass. Times had changed since his grandmother emigrated, but not so much that he felt comfortable shouting from the rooftops that he had African blood. People still frowned upon _half-breeds._ At times they did much worse than frown. He looked at Madge again to gauge her reaction, but her face was blank. She was silent and he began to regret his confession.

He wasn't ashamed of where his mother's people originated. He hated the necessity of keeping it secret. "To answer you question, I'm here because I want to learn more about where I came from," he said. "I'm proud of who I am. I don't care what you think."

"And what am I thinking, oh great mind reader?" said Madge.

Gale gave her a bitter look in the dying light of the fire. "Forget it. You know why I'm here now. Just do me a favor and keep your mouth shut." He rose to leave, but Madge caught his arm.

"It doesn't matter to me," she said, holding his defensive stare. "You could be a man from the moon for all I care." She let go of his arm and folded her hands in her lap. "I won't tell anyone. You have my word."

Gale studied her for a moment. Looking into her eyes, blue as the desert sky, he suddenly wanted more than her word. Usually he didn't go for rich girls. They were too well-mannered, too composed, like porcelain dolls just waiting to be shattered, but with her sunburnt face, sleep messy hair, and shapeless tan slacks, she didn't seem like the same rich girl he'd first seen on the docks. Besides, the way she argued with him, he didn't take her for the type to be easily broken.

Madge looked away first. "I should go to sleep," she said. Her dream from earlier now felt like just that, a dream and nothing more. Yet she didn't stand. The night air, the stillness, the moonlight washed sand, it was all so beautiful, so calm.

"Yeah, me too," said Gale. He didn't move, either. They didn't speak again and Madge decided that she liked him a good deal more than she had that morning.


End file.
